


Like Air

by xof1013



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot, Post-Canon, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xof1013/pseuds/xof1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say a lot of things can happen when a fellow drinks too much…lol.  Thank goodness, it's true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Air

"Like Air"  
by xof

(December 23, 2005)

 

"I'll do what I like." The indignant conviction of those words and their speaker would have been impressive had the sentence ended with the same vehemence with which it had begun.

But it was the snickering snort of a giggle at the end that ruined the overall effect. That, and the image of Vince trying to stand without falling down in the lift as he swayed drunkenly into more of Stuart's body space – moving from foot to foot as if trying to settle his sea legs when they were in fact on dry land. Or rather in a lift of one of London's poshest hotels, on the way to the well appointed suite Stuart had arranged once they'd realized in their haste to speed into their future of "over and out" together, that they'd left a few vital matters behind that needed - well, attending to….

Number one being Hazel's imminent need of legal counsel, once Vince had broken through Stuart's laughter long enough to make him see that he was in fact NOT lying and that Hazel was for all intents and purposes, headed to the clink. Granted that it had taken most of the road trip to London for him to be convinced; eventually he had pulled to the side of the road and given Vince's mobile a dance of the digits. Finding out in fine style and with complete amusement that Hazel had already one-upped his next move and had already called Lisa herself as soon as she'd been allowed.

"She did what?!? He never…." Stuart had been laughing his arse off by the time Lisa had hung up on him, without a goodbye. It had taken a few minutes of gasping for air before he'd been able to answer Vince's frantic questioning with a smile. Seemed Hazel, in the course of only a few hours, mind – had not only managed to talk the policeman into not pressing charges for assault, but she had him acting as her advocate on the other charges and Lisa was sure that in the end, Hazel WOULD be able to make it to her date with PC Stroud that Friday night, a free woman.

"How'd she manage that?" Vince could only shake his head, amazed.

"She's a Tyler, right. They can manage all sorts. A walk from behind bars, or dematerializing to a new planet." Shooting Vince a mischievous grin, Stuart added, "A man doesn't stand a chance from the start."

"Oh, ha ha." Vince laughed, sarcasm evident but it was unable to cover the colour that started reddening his cheeks.

Number tw… uhmm, the second thing they'd managed to leave behind – the one thing that Vince only thought of while standing behind Stuart as he checked them in at the hotel's front desk.

"Oh my god! Stuart . . . passport."

Needless to say, their intended flight had been decidedly delayed. Only for as long as it would take for Vince to send his keys back, so that one of their lot in Manchester could drop in at his and find what it was he needed. Keys sent, along with a list of what to do with his things, how to care for his fish and the request that most of his belongings of value be added in with Stuart's own in storage. At Stuart's insistence. Special attention being paid to the whereabouts and packing of a certain metal dog named K-9.

Otherwise, it was just a matter then of waiting for delivery of Vince's papers as the two of them whiled away a couple of days in London. And nights too, oh yes….

To now, on night two, with them both on the slippery side of sobriety – Stuart pleasantly buzzed and happy, and Vince blitzed to the point of high humorous inhibition. It was a sight, truly. To find them on opposite sides of their common book. Stuart as caretaker and guide; Vince as Stuart had often been in their past – giggly, touchy and insistent on having himself taken quite seriously despite his inebriation.

So again, it came. The words Vince had found a new freedom to speak, a new freedom to mean. "I'll do what I like. I mean it; I will."

Stuart chuckled as he leaned in to say, "Ohh, who sounds all grown up." He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face, and lit his eyes, as Vince nodded as if it answered a question not even asked. Only to turn his head after a tock of time to add in a stage whisper that was louder than regular speech, his face half buried in the hollow of Stuart's throat as his lips touched the Irishman's ear, "I'm a big boy, Stuart. (pause) Everywhere."

The breathy end to his words tickled Stuart's skin; leaving him shifting as his body tightened just a touch at the implication of Vince's tease. Was he, had he intended? Stuart wasn't left a moment to wonder as the lift doors opened and he watched his friend practically throwing himself through and into the hall, racing down the carpet as if trying to win a game of catch-me-if-you-can. A hard task to achieve given he was wobbling more than running, hand braced on the wall as he went – leaving a bemused Stuart to follow behind.

Coming up at Vince's back, Stuart stopped to watch the spectacle that was his twat of a friend bent over and pressed to the wood, trying to give the locked door a shove. "Vince?"

"Bastard door." It was a small growl, but divinely cute despite his drunken confusion as to why the front door to his flat wouldn't open – when it wasn't his front door at all.

Stuart began laughing again, trying to fumble the key card from his back pocket and giving Vince a shove so he could see to trying to open it the proper way. The beep/click of the door unlocking was enough to have Stuart smiling smugly as he said, "I've always had a way with wood."

And off they were again, sniggering like fools as they tumbled over the threshold – clinging arms keeping them upright despite gravity's wicked conspiracy to see them to their downward crashing doom.

So it wasn't too much of a surprise when they did indeed end up in a sprawl, though amazingly it was on the huge overstuffed couch rather than the plush carpet under their feet. Stuart on his back and Vince half on top, half on his side – the pair still shaking with amusement – each finding the other to be the funniest thing in the room, such is the blindness of drunken philosophers – self-awareness back-seated until the "hair of the dog" went bald.

It would have been fine, the feel of them lying close – maybe even nodding off in a pile of limbs and arms, lulled by the darkness surrounding and the sound of each other's hearts. Wouldn't have been the first time, truthfully. Not even by half…. They'd always found themselves like this, and always it had just happened, never to be spoken of or analyzed as more than the moment.

But not tonight…. Not with Vince shifting about and wiggling in a way that had Stuart curling up around him, trying to stop the advance of tickling hands. "Not on your life, Vince! I'm not to be tickled; it's not done."

An answering snort was almost lost in his hair as Vince nuzzled closer, his hands never stopping as they grazed along the Irishman's sides on their way to dipping under the silk of Stuart's black shirt. "Not done isn't shouldn't be done."

Making a quick grab for Vince's wrists, Stuart pulled back to see what he could of Vince's face in the half moonlight of the open drapes. "That's a bucking offence. Hands down and be good."

Freezing in mid-tease, Vince blinked as if thinking, 'alright, eh,' then he smiled – eyes wicked and smile bright. "That's a game I can play." He pressed his forehead to Stuart's, breathing hotly over the other man's skin, his mouth – as he slowly, eagerly followed the dictate of his own maturing heart – to do what he liked, with whom he liked. "Hands down, yeah." He whispered, watching Stuart's smile catch and end as his lips opened on an unexpected moan as Vince's hand slipped between them and curved over the beginning swell of Stuart's rising sex. "Be good, so good." He murmured, circling his palm as Stuart jerked and closed his eyes in the rush of sudden sensation….

Only to open them again just as quickly as he realized what, and who was happening to him. "Vince, shit…. Ahhh, you don't. I didn't mean…. Oh, nice."

"Shhhh…." Vince grinned, his whole body loose and easy in a way that only alcohol and being with Stuart would allow. "Game's still in progress."

Stuart gripped Vince's shoulders, his hips shifting up into the press of his friend's hand – groaning as Vince began drumming his fingers over the curve of his balls without stopping the rhythm of his palm. "Fuck that feels…."

"Like your balls are in play?" Vince guffed, his lips closer than before – almost, nearer still. Only to have the impending kiss, if he'd indeed meant to kiss – end before it had begun with a burst of air over Stuart's lips as Vince literally fell off the couch, laughing at his own joke.

"Fucker, what are you…." Stuart blinked, drawing his legs up and covering the hard-on in his pants with his hand – lying pissed one second at the stopping – bewildered at the start, and then grinning the next as he looked down to see Vince rolling around like a mong as his friend tried to right himself enough to stand. "Where are you going?"

Managing to rise up on his feet, Vince waved across the room as he answered, "Thirsty." Speaking as if nothing had happened that was at all out of sorts. Distracted in his attempt to crack open the contents of the mini-bar, Vince started in surprise when Stuart reached out to take the bottle out of his hand. "What?"

"Switching you to water." Stuart smirked, thinking that come tomorrow he'd have loads to rag Vince about – not that he minded being felt up; it had been . . . hot. "Then we're putting all good little boys to bed, right."

Vince frowned at that, and then looked down perplexed to find a water bottle in his hand instead of the whiskey he'd started to find. Shaking his head, he made to grab at Stuart's hold on the alcohol. "Would you hell." When Stuart successfully dodged away, the bottle disappearing back into the cabinet from which it had come as he stood guard, grinning, to keep Vince from reaching his goal – Vince again made to tickle the man. A move that Stuart failed to avoid as Vince did the opposite of what was expected and didn't back down.

"Bloody hell, stop you bastard…" He giggled, frantically trying to side-step Vince's torturous fingers – but only managing to find himself pressed full bodied back against the nearest wall. His protests quieted as suddenly as they'd begun, when Vince grabbed him by the back of the neck and pressed his mouth to Stuart's own.

Hard, harsh and heated – the kiss continued, Vince in control and Stuart – after the initial shock, giving back his own just as well. Endless, effortless and enticing in the extreme – they played into each other, lips bruised and mouths open. A battle that seemed suited for neither to lose, both having already won.

That was until a new field of battle was established, the kiss ending as Stuart jerked and cursed under a down pour of water being doused quite deliberately over his head. From the very same bottle he himself had provided. "Shite, that's fucking cold! What's drowning me in aid of, huh? You twat."

Vince, half covered in water himself because he was still tipped towards tipsy and therefore whose aim was sorely lacking, just hugged his chest and shook with laughter so violent it made breathing harder. Finally he gasped out, "Good boys to bed, my arse. I'm a bad one, me. Rotten to the core." Hell, he couldn't even get the words out without falling into another fit of giggles; Stuart's incredulous look and raised eyebrow not serving to dissuade his hilarity one bit.

Stuart snorted, smartly but still fond, as he shook his head – water drops flying wildly across the room. His shirt was plastered to his skin, the wet silk clinging in a way that was fantastic on the eyes but had him trying to pull the fabric out from his body in disgust. He was kicking off his shoes and about to unbutton the shirt when his progress was halted by Vince's voice. By his words.

"You're all wet." It wasn't that they held any significance because of *course* he was wet, the arsehole; it was the way they were said – low, so low, husky and…. And intimate. Deep and coarse, they came between them – the volume of his voice giving each word a new and different weight. And then Vince was there, in front of him again, against him again – eyes shadowed by lashes lowered, but still watching him with a heat that took away the stinging chill.

A breath, and then Stuart answered back – this time his words a whisper. "Your fault, that." He watched as Vince remained silent, leaning just a bit closer in as his eyes roamed over Stuart's body – closer still as his gaze settled on his friend's mouth. Stuart bit at his lip; shivering at the focus Vince paid even that small gesture. "You too."

A pause in which there wasn't any recognition of Stuart's whisper, as if Vince were too caught up in the view to notice anything else – but then it clicked and he blinked as only one riding the road of intoxication could, slow and lazily aware. "Wha…?"

Angling his head so he could meet Vince's eyes, given the proximity of their faces – Stuart smiled softly, fondly. "Wet. We both are, thanks to you."

The only response was a hum released thoughtfully in the space between, his breath warming Stuart's face as Vince looked into his eyes and then down again to his mouth. Looking for the longest, as hunger skirted through his eyes and flowed over his expression with an ease that left only one conclusion – one path for him to follow, and that was forward. "Have to fix that."

"Vince?" Stuart wasn't given the time to continue, and really – he'd never know what he'd intended to say. Didn't matter, in the end. All that did became his completely with one step closer.

One step in, a leg pushed between Stuart's parted thighs, had Vince there. There and reaching, touching like a fire had been lit under him. Within him. His advance a blur as he manhandled Stuart's body to his desire; hand at the back of his neck, head held back by fingers clutched in his dark hair as Vince dove in, his mouth devouring the line of Stuart's throat, licking, mouthing the water dripping down his skin. Feeding his thirst as he claimed every inch of skin he could reach.

And then moved on to a few inches more as the sound of ripped silk sounded through the room; Stuart too stunned and ambushed by desire to notice or care at the damage. Gritting his teeth to keep from begging harder, further, more because he'd been the brunt of Vince's starts and stops already twice that night, Stuart managed to last only half a minute more before he groaned thickly, "Not stopping. This, us. Ahh, fuck – not a third time. I'll kill you."

He felt Vince shaking his head without moving back from Stuart's skin, teeth raking lightly as he moved down the man's smooth chest to nip at a standing nub – tongue passing over the nipple in a hot pass that had Stuart clutching at Vince's body as he jerked and moaned at the continuing teasing assault to his senses. "Fucker, that had better be a yes." Speaking without thought to an answer, Stuart pulled at Vince's head – trying to get him closer, higher and lower at the same time – anywhere that he could feel more, now. The Irishman left more than a bit frazzled at being the canvas to Vince's sexual aggression, pleasantly surprised and happy to see Vince – his Vince, had it in him.

Vince groaned as Stuart clutched at him, lost in his desire to indeed do as he liked – aftermath and consequence be damned. Rising up tall, he grabbed Stuart's hand and pushed it down to touch him through his trousers – sounding hungry as he hissed, "No passengers," into the other man's mouth as he claimed another kiss that stole away any lasting doubts that what was happening, would happen. Entirely.

Groaning softly at the feel of Vince's hard-on, Stuart playfully bit at Vince's lip as their kiss edged up a notch. Each pass of tongue, each to the other, a master stroke as they duelled together towards the same purpose. To have more of each other, pressing and pressed as they passed their taste from man to man and took it back again.

Until Vince pulled away only so far as it took to allow himself a smile, lips parted as the satisfied grin broke over his face – his response, chorused by a hungry groan, as Stuart managed to pull down his zipper and pass his hand inside. Fingers wrapped around, feeling him through the soft cotton of his underwear as Stuart stroked him with a twist of his wrist and the circling of his hand. The smiling growing even more as Stuart growled out, "Wanna feel you. Have to…."

Head-rushed by the experience of having Stuart saying such, and it be about HIM – Vince revelled in it, empowered by Stuart's need to draw it out even more. He laid a kiss, hard and fast on Stuart's mouth and then stepped back. Stopping Stuart's protest by grabbing his hand and pulling him over back to the couch. "Wanna see you first." Vince sat down, pushing Stuart to stand between his parted legs – looking up at him, expectant and waiting. "Show me." Eyes already devouring as they swept up Stuart's frame, heating him with their burning fire.

"Appealing to my vanity, Vince." Stuart murmured, thinking silently – fuck but that'll work every time when it comes to sex and you. He went to unbutton his shirt, only then discovering the extent of Vince's demanding enthusiasm. Not a button left, and half the stitching torn out of one side. He grinned mischievously. All the more reason, and a good excuse, to take Vince shopping – which he'd planned to do anyway considering he'd driven Vince away from Manchester, and the passing-semblance of his wardrobe, without a thought to turning round so Vince could pack.

Running his fingers up the man's inner thighs, Vince settled his hand over the bulge caused by Stuart's hard length. "Time to call out the big guns, yeah?" He chuckled as Stuart cursed, hands flying as black silk flew and landed with a wet whack on the floor by the door, on the other side of the room. But the laughter stopped when Stuart caught his wrist and pushed both their hands against his cock, thrusting into the flat of Vince's palm.

Throat suddenly dry and body bowstring tight, Vince rasped out, "All of it. Off." He tore his hand away, leaving Stuart's own free to finish the unveiling.

Even being a born exhibitionist didn't prepare Stuart for the experience of having Vince there like he was, impatient and eager – eating him with his darkening blues as he watched Stuart unbutton and pull the zipper down, want writ clear cross his face. Nor did it stop him from shaking just a little as his clothing pooled at his feet, captured in Vince's staring eyes and awaiting a reaction as he stood naked and bare to the man he'd called friend for more than half his life.

It wasn't that he doubted his appeal; it was that it had never mattered so much as now, the way the one he was with would react. And he found himself feeling more exposed than ever he had done.

Not that Vince's response was long in coming, the man left without words to say how beautiful he found Stuart to be – reaching out to guide shaking hands down the line of the other man's body, over hips and back and legs. Hugging him, encircling him as Vince inhaled a staggering breath – absorbing Stuart's scent as he failed to bite back a moan, burying his face in the dark hair at Stuart's groin, rubbing himself softly and adamantly over the full hard rise of Stuart's proud flesh.

It didn't take long for Stuart to close his eyes, the sight of Vince marking himself as he was – too much for Stuart to stand, driving him dangerously close to losing control. The feel of it continued though, driving him mad as Vince added his mouth into play – opening to take Stuart inside. Tasting him as Stuart thrust over his tongue and past his lips into the liquid heat within. Balls high, tight and drawing up – Stuart shuddered and groaned as he opened his eyes to see the man and the act – to witness Vince giving and taking pleasure of his body. So much, too much again as Stuart gasped and fought with himself not to give in, not to give over so quickly. But the more Vince took of him, the more talent he showed in this intimacy – the more Stuart knew he was soon to be lost.

Until his 'almost-there-oh-yeah-almost-fuck-but-that-felt-good' was suddenly and sweepingly jerked from him as fast as his body was jerked off his feet – one minute standing there on shaky legs at the brink of being brought, and the next Vince was pulling back and tumbling Stuart bodily to the couch with a speed that had the air knocked out of his chest. Irrational and half-mad, it wasn't apparent to him at first that Vince was with him, over him, against him – all Stuart knew was that yet again it had been ended, and without his having a chance to feel all that he wanted to feel.

Temper flaring, scalding him as much as his desire unsatisfied – he started to curse and struggle, calling Vince every name he could think of as the two of them tussled about in a tangle of arms and legs until it was Stuart held and claimed beneath the weight of Vince's body. Until it was Vince taking Stuart's mouth in a kiss to silence the storm, whispering hotly between breaks to breathe that, "Shhhh shhh, not stopping. Can't stop. Just wanted to see you, feel you before…. Shhhh."

"Vince, come ON," Stuart's voice was filled with frustration, demand and a twist of a plea. He wanted all of it, everything – and now. He could feel how hard Vince was through the man's underwear, zipper still down and trousers open – the button having come undone during the struggle. Arching up, he bit at Vince's wet lips and grabbed at his hips, trying to pull his friend closer in on top of him. Anything to bring them together….

Groaning at Stuart's desperate aggression, Vince's half-laugh left him in an almost hiss was he circled down against Stuart, thrusting into the cradle of the man's spread thighs. Oh my god but he wanted this man, wanted everything there was to have of him. His mind freed of the unfathomable stops and starts it was prone to when completely clear-headed, Vince's only thought – the thing he knew and wouldn't question was that he *was* going to have him, take him.

Stuart Jones was about to be his, and fuck the rest.

Instinctively reaching for his own pocket, he murmured, "Fucking hell," when he came up empty. Even Vince Tyler was want to go out for the night with supplies at the ready, but this wasn't any ordinary night and he was left wearing the same gray pants and dusty rose shirt from his Harlo presentation suit, not two days before. The coat and tie hadn't lasted past the Manchester limits, thrown out the Jeep window to gales of Stuart's laughter and Vince's triumphant yell.

Snatching down, grabbing half-blind – Vince finally managed to nab Stuart's black trousers, humming with satisfaction as he kissed Stuart again, condom and lube packets in hand. Then, just as they were panting into each other's mouths and sweating – Vince in his clothes and Stuart in nothing at all, he pushed down and pulled Stuart's leg up, working their bodies until he was kneeling on the couch between Stuart's thighs. When Stuart tried to draw him down again, Vince slapped the other man's hands down to his sides, pressing on them in a move that said keep still. He was doing it, all.

Leaning down to distract as he reached to free himself, Vince licked slowly up the line of Stuart's throat, over his lips. "You tasted good, heavy. On my tongue; fucking over my tongue." Words meant to incite, meant to impress the truth of Vince's pleasure even as he worked to increase Stuart's own.

"Vince, just…. Shit, please just," Stuart was moaning as he felt the first touch of Vince's fingers as they passed over his opening; the man too blitzed-out in the moment to care that he was the one asking. And then with a turn of Vince's wrist and a thrust, he was taken, breached by the warmth of the other's fingers as they played into him – one, then a partnered pair of two. The both of them working him open, owning him as they took his body higher with a third till he was almost thrashing for more.

The sight, the sound of Stuart moving like that around him, under him, knowing he was going to move like that when he was *in* him, had Vince clenching his jaw as a tremor traveled down his back. "Stuart, ahh. Stuart," he repeated, voice broken by the weight of his need and the unexpectedness of having that desire met as he pulled Stuart's leg around his waist and thrust hard and long inside him; torn wrappers trailing down to the floor as they came together and started to move.

Breath stolen by the sheer barrage of Vince entering him, Stuart gasped and bucked under the force of it – the persistent strength of his friend's possession enough to have him riding pleasure's wave as it crashed and burned through his senses like wildfire, banked only by Vince's sweet kisses and caring, caressing hands – both of which served to anchor Stuart in the moment. Calling him back to the *feel* of Vince having him, fucking him. Oh shit, making him grunt and moan and *want* with a violence that was overwhelming any instinct he may have had to make this anything other than what it was; the two of them made whole, connected as they'd never been, but always had wanted.

Vince was awashed, thrusting and crying out – answering Stuart's every sound with one of his own. The pace frantic, rutting and almost rough as each man clung and grabbed at the other until Vince was desperately clutching at the back of the couch with one hand to maintain his balance as he dropped one foot to the floor for leverage. Stuart's hands were buried under the half-wrecked and wrinkled fabric of Vince's pants, gripping at his hips and pulling him in again and again. The man shuddering and jerking as Vince managed to force his free hand between them, stroking and pulling at Stuart's aching flesh, circling up and down its length as the sounds of sex, wet and loud filled the room.

It was too much really to last long; the intensity too high to hold back. Especially given that it was a first time coming after so long a delay, mixed with drink-salted sobriety and a rush of emotion and amazement that it was happening at all, let alone at last. First came the spill of Stuart's seed as he threw back his head, body seized by bliss until he couldn't see with eyes wide open as he shot again and again over Vince's demanding hand. Then came Vince, not far behind, seeing nothing but Stuart, knowing nothing but the other man's face – a grunt, a cry and the spasm roared through him until he could only collapse, head bowed, blanketed on Stuart's chest – shaken and undone.

A long while later, the heap that was Stuart and Vince after, moved. A leg slide here, an arm shift there and a garble of sighs and moans as they separated chorused Vince's weary reach to remove their protection even as his body protested the need to move at all, content as he was to lie against Stuart's warmth and breathe in his scent as they drifted. But the longer they remained, the more awake Stuart seemed as his hands started to roam. First in Vince's hair, then over his back, the pair circling down as Vince pressed into their touch.

Both having not said a word, it was surprising when at last the air shifted with sound that bordered on speech. Surprising because it was Stuart's laughter, a low-toned giggle that escaped as he continued to map out Vince's body – or what he could reach of it, beneath the man's clothes.

"Wha…." Vince murmured, nuzzling his face up into the crook of Stuart's neck – too at ease and lazy to feel the need to second-guess or doubt the moment. Just asking after the hilarity as he enjoyed the sound of Stuart's laugh tickling at his ear….

Stuart grinned, eyes closed and face relaxed. "Vince Tyler, shoe-shagger."

Frowning, but mostly too shag-happy to be truly concerned, Vince murmured, "Huhh, what?"

Stuart laughed louder, "You shagged me in your shoes; didn't even take 'em off."

Rising up, Vince blinked slowly then smiled back. "And the rest." He reached up and brushed a touch over Stuart's cheek, saying softly, "Didn't matter, just went for it. Apparently." The last word was said with a chagrined chuckle as he looked down at them both and at the wreck of what used to be his clothing.

"The trousers are a loss, not that I'd consider that a tragedy," Stuart teased, running his hands up Vince's arms, "And this *shirt*…."

"Hey, you bought this shirt. After my promotion, you bastard." Vince's tone was just as teasing, albeit a tad playfully defensive.

Stuart bit at his lip, his expression appraising as he trailed his fingers over the fabric covering Vince's chest – hand coming away wet with a combination of water, sweat and spunk, all of which had the shirt sticking to Vince's skin. "And as always, I've perfect taste." Holding Vince's eyes, Stuart brought his hand to his mouth – licking his fingers clean in such an obvious and lewd manner that Vince groaned, his hips unconsciously rubbing against Stuart's body. The change from humour to heat flickered in his eyes as Stuart murmured, "Still thirsty?"

The only answer Vince was capable of was none at all; words failing to satisfy as he reacted fiercely, claiming the man's teasing mouth with his own. Learning again the taste of him, this time from the man's lips and tongue as they kissed.

At first it was Vince in control, guiding them as they touched. Until with a growl, Stuart took back his own and laid waste to Vince's fractured senses all the more – biting softly, suckling at Vince's bottom lip and giving it a gentle tug as Vince gasped and gave in to Stuart's play. Melted against him and opened for more; Stuart's want now Vince's desire.

Anything to have more of everything….

Kisses never fully ending, Stuart pulled at the buttons on Vince's shirt as he mumbled, "Always thought I'd be the one. The one, uhmm . . . shagging you, but then…. God, Vince. You're fantastic." He jerked the shirt off Vince's shoulders, hands running flat over Vince's chest, teasing at nipples hard and standing tight. "Felt so fucking good."

Mind a tangle of non-thought; it was a mystery how Vince found himself functioning enough to catch what it was that Stuart had said. His words gusting over Stuart's lips, he asked in a hot rush, "But you did, think about it?"

Hands tearing now at Vince's pants, pushing at them with his feet, Stuart nodded – unable to phrase just how much, and unpractised at how to express himself given the topic. Given that it was Vince he was with, Vince who was asking. But knowing that he had to answer, he did so in the only way he instinctually knew would say it all. "I'm having you back, Vince. Now, tonight." Sucking in the courage he hadn't known he'd need, he added, "Tomorrow, and the next. And all the rest."

Nodding in turn, struck silent by what Stuart was saying. Amazed that it wasn't a drunken man's dream, which he knew it wasn't because Vince had never felt more sober in all his life as he touched Stuart's mouth and looked into his eyes, whispering, "New planet," by way of agreeing.

Tangling his fingers in the havoc that was Stuart's dark hair post-shag, Vince brushed his lips over Stuart's before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "What are you like…." He mused quietly, fondly smiling.

Stuart moved against him, arching and rubbing like a well-fed feline as he let his hands travel over the swell of Vince's bottom. "Hmm, what are we like, you mean."

Vince curved into Stuart's body and touched and tasted all that was his to take. Feeling lazy and full at heart, he sighed in satisfaction, "Like air…."

The words nonsensical it would seem to anyone not privy to the sense of Vince.

Stuart and Vince – like air, each to the other. Vital to life. And a necessity of living.

Finis


End file.
